This is the plaza in which the annual winter festival culminates in the ceremonial 'burial of the sardine'. According to the government website we were right on time – 7.31pm – yet, as you can see, there's not one sardine in sight nor are there sufficient personnel on hand to bury it even though the hole required presumably could be quite small.
We left disappointed but subsequently delighted to learn that the website had been incorrect. The internment was scheduled for two nights hence, it's just that no one had noticed that the website had the wrong date. Or, more likely, that they did notice and simply weren't motivated enough to fix the issue, relying instead on word of mouth to inform the public of the correct evening for the burial.
As a not-yet-Spanish-speaker, word of mouth isn't something we can rely on too much. It would be terrific to be able to easily find out why people are variously:
The only opportunity we really had to ask someone was out the front of a very well choreographed protest, where there were obviously a few English speakers, but we were reluctant to do so in case the protest was about all the stupid foreigners taking over the city.
Both being good googlers, Jess and I are used to finding out about things with the use of a mobile phone and a bit of luck. But of course info about activities in any given neighbourhood in Spain tends to be in Spanish. Auto translation is pretty good but as you can see from this screen grab it can be misleading.
Still, in a way not having the ability to follow local events is quite refreshing. In blissful ignorance we are continually delighted and surprised by the sights and sounds of this remarkable culture, and also by the inability to tell when someone has audibly expressed that they'd like the stupid foreigners to piss off out of their bar.
For now we have a couple more days to prepare for the burying of the sardine party. And whatever you do, don't google it.